The Mirror
by Slayer2003
Summary: Nothing makes you more angry than the fact that she will fight for anyone but herself. Set after Day 8. J/R. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

**AN: This fic is crossposted to a site called 24nmore (dotcom). The site is home to a group of authors who publish some awesome 24 fic. The site is pretty new so we're looking for some new members to read and comment and post their own fic on our forums and join in in the discussion. Please check it out, we'd really like to see some new members. Please see my profile for the link.**

You don't sleep at all the night before you are finally allowed to visit her.

You drum your fingers anxiously on your steering wheel as you crawl painfully through the afternoon traffic. A bouquet of fresh daffodils lie across your passenger seat.

You don't have any expectations, only hope that she'll agree to see you at all. You know your guilt is misplaced, that she was a danger to herself, that this was necessary. _Necessity. _The concept you've used so many times to justify your own actions that you don't really know what it means anymore. You can recall as clear as day that final glance, equal parts pleading and accusatory. Like you committed the ultimate betrayal. _Jack, Jack. Don't let them take me. _

They say she is much better now, that she is cooperative with her doctors and has made a sizeable improvement. You wonder what that could really mean in a few short weeks. Going on ten years and you still don't feel improved. Maybe you never will.

You turn off into the visitors parking lot, surprisingly empty for a friday afternoon. You wonder if the people in this government facility are just like you (her), alone. The nondescript grey brick takes you back to only a few short weeks ago, when it was you who was a patient. The very scent, medical and cold, as you walk in the door puts you on edge. After the customary pat down you are waived through where an orderly is waiting to lead you to her floor. You are escorted to a seating area and informed that she is in session for another few minutes but will be informed of your presence. You perch uncomfortably and pick up a copy of Time, flipping through without really absorbing anything. Twenty minutes pass, then thirty, and you wonder what is taking so long.

"Mr. Bauer," the orderly says. He inclines his head ever so slightly and you feel relief wash through you.

"Thank you," you say. "Is Dr. Ellis around?" He was the psychiatrist assigned to your case as well, the best that the government has to offer, apparently.

"Of course, sir, right this way," for once you're glad your name carries some clout, even in a place where most of the employees have cleaned up your shit and vomit.

"Mr. Bauer," comes the doctors booming voice, accompanied by the appearance of his jovial, red face. "Glad to see you up and about."

"Dr. Ellis," you say cordially, shaking his hand.

"Wonderful that Renee has a visitor," he says, and you can't help but be sad that you're the only one. "She really is making great strides. Of course, you understand the situation. Recovery could take years, but I'm optimistic. She's been very cooperative and I'd be willing to sign off on her release in a few weeks. You must excuse me, but it was wonderful to see you again."

Still, you are not convinced.

The orderly leads you to her room and you both slip inside quietly. The room is light and pleasant enough, though it is almost completely bare. She is lying in her bed, back to you, silent even when her name slips through your lips, unbidden. The orderly lingers, looking unsure. "Excuse us, please," you manage.

"Sir, I'm not supposed to-"

"I'll manage," you say firmly, pinning his gaze. He gulps once and leaves.

"Renee," you say again, "it's Jack. How are you?" You feel bad as soon as you ask, like its another small betrayal.

She doesn't respond, but you can tell she's awake. You can see the knobs of her spine even through what look like comfortable pyjamas. You let out a breath that must sound like frustration but is really just anxiety. There's no vase for the daffodils (shards) so you set them on her bedside table. There is a chair to the left of her bed so you sit down and fold your hands in your lap. You take it as a good sign that she hasn't kicked you out yet.

"I'm sure you talked to the doctor, Jack. You heard him. I'm fine," You hear that hard edge in her voice, the one that makes your breath constrict because it feels like someone else is inhabiting her body. Like she is giving up, slipping away. And nothing makes you more angry than the fact that she will fight for anyone but herself.

"Cut the bullshit Renee. You and I both know you've got him fooled. Tell me, how many times have you tried to kill yourself since they brought you here?"

She finally turns to face you. You see the mask of strength and nonchalance but you also see a deep weariness in her that you feel every day.

"Just the first night," she says, finally meeting your eyes. "After that they kept me in constraints," then, "I'm tired, Jack."

"I know," you murmur, "please don't try to hurt yourself anymore."

She doesn't answer, but closes her eyes. "I'm tired," she says again, meaning for you to leave.

"Can I come back next week?" you ask.

You're thankful for her tiny nod of assent. "Next week," you promise. You rise and hesitate for a moment, but finally press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She flinches almost imperceptibly. You slip away, unnoticed.

___

AN: TBC. Please leave a kind (or not) word if you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thank you to the awesome Cybertoothtiger for the beta and for everyone's lovely feedback. Keep it coming!

**Part Two**

You hear his gait before you see him walk in the door. You can tell it's him because everyone else in this damn place creeps around on eggshells around you. (You do feel vaguely sorry about the eleven stitches that nurse needed.) When he walks in his eyes travel over you critically, assessing you. You pretend not to look at him but you see how the corner of his mouth turns up when notices the daffodils he brought last week wilting slightly in their shatterproof vase. You're afraid to look into his eyes because you couldn't bear to see in them the same pity that everyone else looks at you with. Not from him. And yet he is the only other human being on the planet you can tolerate for more than five minutes right now, because he alone understands.

"Hi," he says, sitting down next to you.

"Hi," you reply quietly. An awkward moment of silence passes. You can feel the wall between you and you know it's your fault, that he would talk to you if you wanted to. But the simple fact is that you don't really feel much of anything right now. You wonder how much of this you can blame on the anti-psychotics.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asks suddenly. "It's nice out," he doesn't mention that he had to clear it with Dr. Ellis, who thought that it was a wonderful idea.

You narrow your eyes. "Not really…" But it seems like your desire to stay indoors is nothing compared to the overwhelming apathy which currently accounts for ninety-nine percent of your feelings. You're open to suggestion, from Jack, anyway. If he told you to jump off a bridge, you muse darkly, you probably would. You slide one foot slowly over the side of your bed, then the other.

"I'll get your coat," he says quickly, probably eager to drag you out before you have a chance to change your mind.

He ushers you out into the network of tree sheltered pathways on the hospital's many acres. There are a few others lingering close to the building with attendants, some smoking, some reading. It's was sunny earlier but now the sun is slowly sinking past the horizon, emitting a golden light that might have made these woods pretty (if you cared at all, which you don't). You ask about his family because maybe if you get him talking about himself, you won't have to do the same. You see him smile but you don't really listen as he recounts little Teri's play school exploits and Kim's wonderful job and Steven's affinity for fly fishing.

"Where will you go when they let you out?"

"What?" You ask, startled to realize the topic had taken a turn somewhere. He repeats his question.

"I have an apartment in DC, Jack," you lie.

"No you don't," he says, halting your stroll. The yellow autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet as you shift your weight uncomfortably. "You didn't renew your lease and CTU was putting you up in a hotel."

"I really don't see how it's any of your business, Jack," you snap, suddenly irritated. You see his brow crinkle in frustration. "I'm not your responsibility. I'm not some stray puppy you can look after to feel better about yourself." You close your eyes resolutely. You don't need to look to feel the anger (hurt) radiating off him in waves.

"Renee," he says, voice very low. For some reason, his tone doesn't quite fit what you were expecting. It sounds… fearful. "There's someone following us. Act normal, and we'll start heading back, slowly."

Where before you would have felt a rush of fear and adrenaline, now there is almost nothing. Almost. In some dark recess of your mind there is a dim candle that burns, feeding on fear, hatred, and your desire for vengeance. Because Vlad is still alive, and waiting, and you know it is only a matter of time before one of you seeks the other out. You think about all the mundane ways you could die right now (shooting, explosion, gas, shooting, shooting) and have only a pang of regret that you never got a chance to hurt him like he hurt you.

You know Jack can't possibly be carrying a weapon. They wouldn't have let him in if he was.

"Mr. Bauer? Ms. Walker? I'm sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over."

Jack's head whips around, and yours follows slowly. An orderly is standing in the path behind you, looking sheepish. Well, that was anticlimactic. "I always get lost in these woods," he says, by way of explanation for his odd location. "May I escort you back to the building?"

Jack's shoulders relax. He nods. "You know, I think we're a little lost ourselves. Would you lead the way?"

"Of course," the orderly smiles and strides past us. "Oh, I hope haven't dropped my glove!" He holds up one ungloved hand.

Several things happen in very quick succesion. The orderly barely has a chance to reach into his pocket before Jack throws his entire body into the man, causing the concealed weapon to fly from his grasp to right at your feet only a few steps away. "Renee!" he roars. "The gun!"

You look down at it and wonder idly if you should pick it up (and who to shoot) but you hear the sickening sound of a fist colliding with Jack's face, so you reach for it and point it decisively at the intruder.

Jack grunts angrily as he rolls the man over, pinning him with a firm hand around his throat. "Who sent you?" he yells, chest heaving.

"You know who sent me," the man gasps, face quickly turning red. "He sends a message. He will find you," his eyes suddenly turn on you. "He will find you and he kill you slowly for your betrayal."

You cock the pistol and kneel down, pressing it directly the man's temple. "You're going to kill him," you say irritably to Jack.

Jack blinks once and loosens his grip only slightly. "Give me the gun. Go to the hospital and get help."

You ignore him. "When Vlad and I meet," you whisper, "one of us is going to die. Just like you are, right now."

"Renee! No!" Jack yells, but a second later he recoils as a spatter of blood hits his face. You wipe the same from your brow.

There is a moment of total silence. Then- "What the hell did you just do that for?" he yells, so angrily that you feel his spittle fly and land on your face. "He could have had information! He could have told us where Leitanan is!"

"No, he couldn't have, Jack." You say quietly, succinctly. "I know how he operates. If Vlad wanted me to know where he was, he would have let me know. If he wanted to kill us, he would have. That was just a warning." You pause. "Vlad likes to play with his food before he eats it."

"You still had no reason to kill him," Jack's voice drops a register, and for the tiniest moment you feel a pang of guilt, like you disappointed him. You brush it away.

"Let's get this straight," you say, "We're going to say that he was threatening us and we killed him in self defence. This is already going to put my release back. I need to get out of here as soon as possible."

"I don't think you do."

Anger wells in your chest. "Butt out Jack. This isn't your business anymore. It's personal, now." You stand up and straighten out your clothes, dirty as they are now. "Don't come back," you say coldly. "If you do, I'll have them throw you out."

With that, you walk off in the direction of the hospital without a second glance. His muttered "dammit!" carries on the wind.

The next few hours are a blur. The second someone sees you walk in the door there is a mad rush towards you, to restrain you (a precaution, they tell you later). Someone triggers an alarm. You're forced into a wheelchair and carted away while people simultaneously shout questions at you and wipe brains off your face. You don't feel like saying much so all you tell them is that someone tried to kill you, and that Jack will back you up. You hope he will.

Sometime later after you've been showered and changed and put back into bed Dr. Ellis comes into your room and takes a seat. "Renee, I'm glad you're alright. Let's take a moment to discuss what happened."

You give a tiny shrug and turn your ahead away so that you can see the lights of the city out your window.

"Can you tell me the story in your own words?"

You sigh audibly. "A man appeared dressed as an orderly. He tried to pull a gun but Jack tackled him. He said he had a message from Vladimir Laitanan. He was threatening Jack, so I acted in self-defence."

"Yes, that was Mr. Bauer's statement as well," you feel relief wash through you. "I realize its late. We'll talk about this in session tomorrow. Rest assured that the area has been secured." He pauses for a moment, as if expecting your gratitude or relief or something. "Renee, I think this is a major set back for you. I'd like for you to stay with us a little longer."

"That won't be necessary," you say, gritting your teeth in irritation. It seems to be one of the only things you feel these days. That and anger.

"Unfortunately the state has deemed that it is. You will be moved to a different facility for your own safety while the government deals with this threat."

"Fine," you say. You aren't looking at him but you know he is surprised by your easy consent. "I'd like to get some rest, now."

"Of course. We'll go over the details in the morning. Good night."

You don't reply as he leaves the room, but you pull your covers up around your chin and close your eyes. Somehow you've learned to function without much sleep at all, only dozing for ten minutes at a time, mind restless, imagination wild, memories unforgiving.

---

_Come here, Renee._

_I said come here._

_Your legs betray you and take a step towards him. His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbone. You shiver because you are cold, because his touch literally makes you want to vomit._

_The towel falls…_

---

You start awake with a clang and realize you've wiped the entire contents of your bedside table on to the floor. Only the vase of flowers survives, tipped and dripping water.

"Ms. Walker - " the nurse exclaims, but she doesn't have a chance. You swing wildly with the vase and she crumples to the floor, unconscious. You frantically scramble out of bed into your shoes and grab the nurse's ID clip, then her scrub pants, then throw on your jacket, hood up. There are twenty dollars in the pocket.

You're gone before anyone notices you're missing.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So for those of you up with canon you should now realize this fic is very, very, very AU. I hope you can disregard that and keep reading. Thank you for the kind words. Please keep feeding me! Especially those people who added me to their alerts and haven't left a comment… Five bucks to the person who gets the Buffy reference (and I mean, specifically gets it).**

**Part 3**

_"We know you are resilient Mr. Bauer. Maybe more so than most. But what you do not understand is that my people have had thousands of years longer than yours to improve on our interrogation techniques. Have you heard of the Ling Ci? We call it the Death of a Thousand Cuts…"_

A phone is ringing. You wonder whose it is because the Chinese never take calls in front of you. You instinctively pull your arms towards your body and are surprised when they hit your chest forcefully, unbound. You open your eyes slowly and wonder for a moment where they've taken you.

Slowly, the fog clears and you realize you're in bed in the hotel room you've been in the last few weeks here in New York. Your phone is still ringing. The clock reads 11:42 pm. It feels like you've been asleep much longer.

"Bauer," you rasp.

"Jack, it's Chloe."

"What is it, Chloe?" you ask. Something isn't right. You hear her gulp over the line.

"It's Renee, Jack," she says worriedly. "She escaped from the hospital and is on the run."

You sit up quickly and rub the sleep out of your eyes. "She's trying to find Laitanan."

"Oh. That's not good."

"No, it's not." You sit up and turn on the light, scanning the room for your pants. "So NYPD is looking for her?"

"Of course, but you know she's too good to get caught by them. CTU's been notified, but they won't look into it until morning when NYPD turns up nothing. I can probably… help you out."

"What are you saying, Chloe?"

"I can give you a head start. You're going to be called in for questioning soon enough. I can tell Hastings you're going to find her personally, but I might be lying if I tell him you'll take her back to the hospital."

You pause for a moment and consider. It was bad enough you let them lock her up once, but you don't know if you could bear to do it again, to see the betrayal in her eyes. You know there's nothing the doctors can do for her, not really. You feel for the umpteenth time an intense feeling of protectiveness.

"Yeah," you say finally. "You would be. How long can you get me?"

"Three hours, maybe four." For once it's plenty of time. You already have a good idea of where's she's headed.

"Alright, thank you Chloe. I'll take care of it." You don't feel as assured as you sound.

"Let me know if you need anything, Jack," she says. You hang up and make a mental note to buy her flowers or something. You throw on the nearest shirt and grab your keys, wallet, and gun out of the bedside table. You sure as hell hope you won't need to use it.

Luckily the roads are relatively clear so you can speed wildly, disregarding the angry honks from other vehicles. You wonder how Renee will get there, what she'll do, if she even has a weapon. It's improbable Laitanan will have set up shop in the same building twice, especially since CTU gave it a once over after the bust. But he could still be around, waiting, watching. As much as you hate the circumstances, you understand Renee's desire for vengeance. But the odds are overwhelmingly against her. She is one person against an entire pissed off crime syndicate. She knows this as well, and you are forced to conclude that she doesn't intend to get out alive.

There is no evidence of her as you pull up to the old warehouse. You park your car in the back alley and scan for an easy way in. The barbed wire on the top of the chain linked fence is detached from the brick wall in one corner. You look left and right to make sure no one is around and take a running leap at the fence and land messily on the other side. There is a large rip in the sleeve of your leather jacket, but you're unharmed. You creep around to the side and find a door open just a crack so you peek in, but it's pitch dark. You cock your gun and slowly push the door open.

The hallway is long and dark. The air is stagnant and all you can hear are your own footsteps and shallow breath.

A light flicks on ahead of you from a room to the left. You raise your weapon and press your back against the wall, creeping up towards the doorway. The sound of footsteps and the crinkle of paper. You peer around the corner.

The room is small, decrepit. There is a couch against one wall and a desk with a couple of dusty bottles of scotch and vodka.

And her, standing beside the desk, a note clutched in one hand. The single flickering halogen illuminates her glassy eyes and the tears on her hollow cheeks. She looks ethereal, beautiful in a way only sadness can be, like a ghost.

You lower your gun. "Renee," you say softly, so as not to startle her, but you do anyway.

"What are you doing here?" her voice cracks as she hastily wipes her face.

"Renee, let me help you," you plead, walking towards her. She backs up like an animal caught in a corner. "We'll do it your way, I promise." She just stares at you, doe eyed. "Please Renee. I know what it's like. I've been there. I know what it's like to harbour that kind of hate." You realize you haven't blinked in a while, lost in your own memories. "You have to finish it, or it'll eat away at you forever."

"He's not here," she says finally, holding up the note. "He's in St. Petersburg."

"He wants you to go to him," you state matter-of-factly.

"I thought tonight was it," she says, crumpling up the note in her hand. "I thought I was going to die tonight, Jack, and all I felt was relief." Hysteria rises in her voice.

You wonder if she ever loved him. "Shh. Chloe will get us a flight out first thing in the morning, ok?"

She nods. "I don't have anywhere to go," she says quietly, suddenly looking scared.

"You'll stay with me. We're in this together, remember?" You stretch out a hand.

She looks at it for a second and finally takes it. She doesn't let go as you walk back out of the building until you boost her back over the fence.

"They'll be looking for me," she says once you're both buckled up in the car.

"Yeah. Chloe will watch out for us. We can't go back to my hotel. Mind if we find something off the interstate for the night?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

The rest of the trip is spent in silence until finally you pull up to a seedy looking motel. You pull your messenger back out of the trunk and you both walk into the reception area. There is a moose head tacked up about the fireplace and Christmas lights strung along the mantle even though it's barely October. The lady at the desk is reading a dog-eared paperback. She looks up as you approach her.

"'Can I do for ya?" she asks, popping her gum.

"We'll take two rooms please," you reply. The woman looks from Renee to you and raises an eyebrow.

"One room's fine," Renee says quietly beside you.

You turn to look at her for a split second but she's staring resolutely out the window. You wonder if just maybe she doesn't want to be alone tonight. Truthfully, neither do you. "Ok," you reply, without further comment. "One room, then."

The woman smiles knowingly. "How will you be paying for that?" You pull out a credit card and a driver's licence bearing the name Randy Giles (an old cover) just in case. When the transaction's gone through the woman points to a door to her right. "Your room is out there and up the stairs. And there's a diner next door case you want anything to eat."

"Thank you," you say, and take the room key. Renee follows you wordlessly.

The room is shabby, but clean. There are two double beds and a small television. "This ok?" You ask her.

"It's fine, Jack," she says, sitting down on the bed.

"I'm going to get us something to eat. What can I get you? And nothing is not an appropriate answer."

One corner of her mouth turns up almost imperceptibly. She considers for a moment, then, "Onion rings."

You raise an eyebrow, but say, "You got it."

"I'm gonna get cleaned up, ok?"

"Yeah, I'll be right back."

At the diner you get her onion rings and a couple of burgers and beers for good measure. As you're waiting for your order you flip open your phone and dial Chloe.

"O'Brian," she responds, groggily. You check your watch and realize it's almost three in the morning.

"Chloe, it's Jack."

"Jack! Did you find her?"

"Yeah, we're at a motel off the interstate. Listen, I need you to get us the next flight out to St. Petersburg."

"St. Petersburg?" you can almost see her face scrunch up.

"Laitanan is there. Renee wants to go after him."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Jack?"

"Can you just get me that flight, Chloe?"

She huffs over the line. "Yeah, just a second," she presumably gets up to get her laptop. "The earliest flight leaves at noon. Is that ok?"

"That's fine. Use my Giles alias. And can you make up a passport for Renee?"

"Sure. I'll meet you at the airport with it."

"Thanks Chloe, I appreciate it." You smile and make a mental note to send Chloe some flowers sometime.

"I know," she says. "See you in the morning." She hangs up on you. The waitress comes out with your order, neatly packed in takeout bags. You thank her and tip generously.

You hurry back and knock in case she is isn't decent. She doesn't answer. Worry wells up in your chest. You knock, louder this time. Nothing. Your mind cycles through a dozen or so terrible things that could have happened to her. You never should have left her alone in the first place.

You yank your key out of your pocket and let yourself in. "Renee?" you call again, voice escalating. The bathroom door is closed. You rush over and start to pound on it and desperately hope she isn't sitting in the bathtub, life pouring out of her wrists.

Abruptly the door opens. "What the hell Jack?" she yells. She's standing in front of you, only in a towel, looking angry.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I brought dinner," you say sheepishly, and hold up the bag. A peace offering in the form of onion rings.

She rolls her eyes. "Give me a minute."

"Yeah, sorry," you say to the closed door.

There's no table in the room to eat at so you take a towel and lay the food out on the bed. She comes out a few minutes later wearing the same scrub pants and pajama top she had on earlier. "I look ridiculous," she says, disgruntled.

You can't help but smile. "We'll get you something new before we go to the airport."

She nods. "Picnic?"

"I hope you're not a vegetarian, 'cause I brought cheeseburgers."

"Yeah right," she grumbles, swiping one and promptly unwrapping it. "Thanks. The crap they fed me in the hospital was unbelievable."

"Yeah, I remember." The conversation isn't exactly ample, but it's the most words you've heard Renee string together lately.

You're surprised by how good it feels. How natural. Renee is undeniably beautiful. She's smart and strong and exactly the kind of person you would be attracted to if it weren't for… everything. The impossible set of circumstances that is your life. Who you are. You decided a long time ago that there simply wasn't a place in your life for women. You have Kim and the baby and that's all the family you need.

You always ignore the tiny voice inside your head that asks if maybe it's not.

Once she's polished off both her burger and onion rings you tidy up the bed. You only manage to leave one mustard stain on the comforter. "Ready to turn in?" you ask.

"Yeah," she replies. "You get the bed with the mustard stain."

You chuckle. "Fine by me."

You both crawl into your respective beds. "Goodnight," you say. She doesn't respond, and you quickly drift off, exhausted.

-----

Later you are woken by a loud, strangled gasp coming from Renee's bed. You know what happened because you were dreaming too.

"Renee," you rasp into the dark.

Vaguely you see her get out of bed. At some point in the night she's managed to kick off her scrub pants and you can see the outline of her legs, illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the blinds.

She pads over and gets into your bed, back to you, completely silent. Tentatively you skim a hand over her arm and pull her gently into your chest.

Mustard stain and all.


	4. Chapter 4

**"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." -Samuel Johnson**

**Part 4**

Something is wrong.

You are simply… too comfortable.

You are warm. There is a warm, softly snoring, immovable object behind you. You've long since learned to be suspicious of anything pleasurable.

For a moment you wonder which bar you managed to get wasted in (and who you went home with) but as you pry open one eyelid you realize that it's Jack's arm draped comfortably around you. You feel the heat creep up in your cheeks and you're sure that you're blushing profusely. You do remember getting into his bed in the middle of the night. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

You wonder whether you should just pretend to be asleep and hope he rolls over, or whether you should just try to slip out from under his grip.

You are saved from the decision, but not the embarrassment, as Jack's phone rings. You grimace.

He stirs and groans once, then you feel his arm slide away as he turns over to answer the phone. "Bauer," he rasps. "Alright. We'll make it. Thank you, Chloe."

He hangs up. "Hey," he says, to you. His gravelly voice makes you shiver. He obviously knows you're awake.

Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. "'Morning."

"How are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm dealing," you say softly. You take a deep breath. "Thank you… for your help," you manage. "I know I'm not the best company right now."

He nods, then smiles. You decide it's something you like to see. The anti-psychotics must be wearing off. You still feel the constant, burning, nauseous sensation in the pit of your stomach, but you also seem to also be able to detect goodness on the opposite end of the spectrum.. And something tells you that Jack, for all his flaws and past deeds, is a shining embodiment of goodness.

"Can you promise me just one thing, Renee?" he asks, not giving you a chance to reply. "Do your damnedest not to get killed when we get there, ok? This doesn't have to be a suicide mission." His eyes go distant, worried.

You blink. You aren't sure if that's a promise you're willing to make. When you try and look beyond your immediate future, there nothing, only a dark void, like someone has blindfolded you. You shrug non-commitally, acknowledging only that you heard him.

He sighs but knows better than to pursue the matter. You almost gasp when he reaches out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers whispering along your cheekbone. You bite your lip.

He says nothing further but rolls away from you and gets out of bed. "I'm just going to take a quick shower and then we can head out. Our flight leaves at noon. Do you want to wash up first?"

"Um, sure. Thanks," you give him the tiniest of smiles and slide out of bed. He quickly averts his eyes as you make a swipe for your pants on the other side of the room.

"Chloe's gonna bring you some clothes."

"Okay," you say and brush past him, eyes down. You turn the tap on cold and throw some water on your face to take down the ridiculous blush on your cheeks.

As soon as you finish you and Jack trade rooms without looking at each other. Twenty minutes later you are on the road.

Chloe meets you in the parking lot of the airport. Her and Jack hug briefly. You blink, considering the interaction. It's been a long time since you called anyone a friend.

"Here are your passports and tickets," Chloe says. "You're now Elaine Giles," she says to you. "It was just easier if you were married, same address and all."

For a moment the strange, awkward tension between you and Jack intensifies. He clears his throat. "It's fine, thanks Chloe."

"I also brought you some clothes," she says, holding out a bag. "They should fit ok."

"I appreciate it," you say.

"Good luck you guys. Be careful," she grumbles, looking crossly at Jack. Then, to you, "Don't kill yourself. It's just not worth it." She looks mildly disturbed with herself for a moment, then blurts out "Sorry!" You can't help but smile.

"Say hi to Prescott for me," Jack waves as she walks away. "You wanna change in the car before we go in?"

"Sure." You get into the back seat and pull on a worn pair of Chloe's jeans and a fitted t-shirt. There's also a light jacket. You seem to be the same size.

"Alright?" Jack asks as you get out.

"Yep, we're good to go." You exhale a long breath.

Jack locks the car and you take off. It's strange walking through the airport without a suitcase. Everyone else has taken care to compartmentalize their lives into fifty pound bags and you have nothing, not even a purse. Even Jack has his shoulder bag. You feel like a half-person, wandering through life but not belonging, not truly living. "I had to leave my weapon behind," he says. "It's registered to my real name."

"It's ok. Its about as easy to buy a gun in Petersburg as it is a loaf of bread."

You check in and go straight through to security. "Passport, ma'am." A bored looking middle-aged woman asks. You hand it over. She looks at it for a moment, then you. Then slowly back to the photograph. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to wait a moment while I verify your information."

"Of course," you say, and then you curse under your breath. Jack is in the next line, waiting to step through the metal detectors. _CTU flagged me, _you mouth to him. He nods, and then steps through. Predictably, the alarm goes off. He must have more than one metal pin in his body.

"Sir, arms out please," the guard says.

"Look, I don't know why I have to go through this every goddamn time I come to the airport," he says, loudly enough for anyone in the general area to hear.

"Sir, if you don't submit to a body search we have the right to detain you-"

"Detain me? I'm not the one you should be worried about. You should be worried about those damn Iraqis (he pronounces it _eye-raqis_) trying to blow up our planes." There's an incredulous murmur from the long queue behind. The woman who was checking your passport comes back, obviously distracted by the scene Jack is making.

"Ma'am would you mind confirming your address, telephone number and occupation?" she asks, one eye on the commotion.

"Look," you murmur, "it's all there. I'm really in a hurry and I think you might need some help calming down my soon to be ex-husband," you grimace conspiratorially.

"Uh," she takes one look at you and back to Jack, sympathy flickering in her eyes. "Yeah, go on."

Jack sees your escape. "Look, fine. Just get it over with quick. I have fourteen pins in my arm from serving this country. Something y'all should learn something about." The guard searches him hurriedly. Mutters of "asshole" and "jerk" can be heard throughout the area.

As soon as you're far enough past security you catch up with Jack. "That was quite the performance," you smirk. "Are you sure you didn't miss your true calling?"

Jack smiles. "I probably did." You take your seat at the gate. Jack picks up the copy of the New York Times next to him. He peers over it at you. "You wanna get a magazine?" he asks.

For the first time since you broke out, you realize that you have almost no money. You have a bank account, obviously, but no way to access it. You have no credit card, no debit card, and no real identification. Having to rely on another person for cash makes you extremely uncomfortable. "No, it's ok, I have-" you dig into your pocket and feel the twenty dollar bill there. _That'll go far. _

Jack seems to sense your unease. "Don't be ridiculous. Here," he holds out a credit card. "You might need it, if we get separated."

"Jack, don't be ridiculous. I have-"

"Look Renee, money is not really an issue, ok? Just take it and save us both the awkwardness."

"Thanks," you say quietly, reaching out and taking it.

_"Passengers of United Air flight 325 to Amsterdam may begin boarding now. For your convenience we ask…"_

"That's our connection," Jack says.

You get up quickly, suddenly nervous. You take a step but Jack stops you, hand gently gripping your forearm. "You don't have to do this," he murmurs, face inches away from your own.

You gulp. For a moment you even seriously consider just turning around right now and forgetting about all this. But you know that's impossible. "Yes, I do, and you know it. Are you with me?"

"I've always been with you," he says simply. His hand trails down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you sniff once and blink to clear the tears pooling in your eyes. You look down at your hands, unsure of what to make of the simple gesture.=. He squeezes gently. "Lets go." He doesn't let go until the agent asks for your passports and waves you through.

Luckily the plane isn't very full and you have first class almost completely to yourselves. The stewardess tells you to choose any seats you like so you pick a pair as far away as possible from the other couple in the cabin, and converse in hushed tones.

"Do you want to tell me what we're going to do when we get there?" he asks, once the plane has taken off.

You take a deep breath. "Vlad has a mansion on the outskirts of town. It's where we lived together when I was undercover with him. It's where he expects me to find him, I'm sure."

"How much resistance are we talking?"

"He always has a few thugs on patrol. But he wants me for himself, so he'd never let any of them kill me. You, definitely."

"I can take care of myself," he smiles.

"You better. I can't have you being collateral."

"I promise," he insists. "You have a hotel in mind?"

You frown. "I have a house there. More, of a cabin, really."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure it'll be safe to stay there?"

"Vlad doesn't know about it. I stayed with him, most of the time. It was just somewhere to go and get away from it all."

"Are you ready to tell me about what really happened between you two?" his voice is almost inaudible.

You turn away to look out the window. "No."

He doesn't press it further, and the next few hours are unremarkable. At the airport in Amsterdam you buy a backpack, some clothes, and a few personal hygiene essentials. Jack powers through several newspapers and as many cups of coffee. You doze finally on the plane to St. Petersburg, not waking until you feel the wheels hit the tarmac and the rushing force of the plane rapidly decelerating.

A bus takes you from the plane to the terminal building. The sky is completely overcast and the cold is wet and biting. It was one of the things you hated most about living here- the constant grey sky. Jack buys a map of the city. Neither of you have any bags to pick up so you go straight to the cab line. You have a short conversation in Russian with driver and are quickly on your way.

Your place is about an hour out. Halfway there it starts pelting rain so hard the car's windshield wipers have trouble keeping up. The driver tells you its going to be a bad winter. As the countryside whips by you feel your anxiety level rise, that something in between cabin fever and insanity you felt almost the entire time you were here last. It isn't that you have anything against the country or the people. There's just too much history for you, too many memories, both good and bad. Finally the small house comes into view, looking shabby and unkempt from years of neglect. It's barely a cabin, a single large room with a bed and stove and fireplace.

The cabbie gives you a good deal on the fare so you give him a solid tip. He gives you his personal card and tells you to call if you ever need a ride. You stuff it in your pocket and thank him.

You and Jack stand in the rain for a moment, silent. "I know it's not much, but I don't plan on staying long."

"It's fine," he replies. The boards creek beneath your feet as you climb the steps.

"I don't have the key," you say, grimacing as your mind makes it to the inevitable conclusion. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"My pleasure," Jack replies, then grunts as he kicks the door in.

It's exactly as you left it, but the air is musty and damp and a fine layer of dust covers every surface. Thankfully a small pile of dry timber lies in the hearth. You shiver, suddenly aware of how damp and cold you are. "Go change," Jack tells you. "I'll start the fireplace."

You nod mutely and let yourself into the tiny bathroom where you peel off Chloe's damp jeans and pull on some sweats you bought at the airport. The faucet protests loudly as you turn it, and runs brown for a few moments before finally turning clear and warm. You splash some water on your face and then take stock of your appearance in the grimy mirror. Your face looks pasty and bare without any makeup. Your hair's grown out somewhat since they cut it at the hospital, but it's stringy and lank and hangs in your face, so you pull it into a messy ponytail. You finally feel human again once you've brushed your teeth and scrubbed your face.

You let yourself back into the main room. Jack is crouched in front of the fireplace, tending to the fledgling fire with a poker.

"Can I make you some tea?" you ask. "I got a couple of packets on the plane."

He turns and smiles at you. "I'd like that."

You pull a couple of mugs and a kettle from the cabinet and rinse all the dust off before putting the water to boil.

"When Kim was little we used to take her camping in the summers," you hear Jack say. "She would always complain about the bugs and the cold and having to sleep on the ground, but as soon as it was time to leave she never wanted to go." You have the sense that you're just a bystander to Jack's private reminiscence so you don't respond, but busy yourself with the tea instead. Jack moves to the table and unfolds the map he bought earlier.

"There's no cream, but do you take sugar?" you ask.

"Two," he replies. You fix his mug and join him at the table. You both sip in silence. "My father used to take me camping too. I loved everything about it - the freedom, the solitude. It's probably why I got this dump and not something a little nicer."

"What happened to your father?"

You sigh, knowing that question was coming. "He left when I was sixteen. He was CIA. I guess that's why I joined the FBI."

"I'm sorry," Jack says.

You shrug. "It was a long time ago." You change the subject to logistics and point out Vlad's place on Jack's map. From memory you help him sketch out a plan of his estate and mansion, including what are likely to be the unguarded entrances and best the sniper angles.

You don't drink much of your tea and before long it is stone cold. You trail but fail to suppress a yawn.

"Time for bed?" Jack asks.

"Looks that way," you say, grateful for the excuse to get up. You open the cupboard to retrieve linens for the bed. An uncomfortable tension is building in your muscles, like you have to remain in perpetual motion or else something awful will happen.

"Just leave me a blanket and a pillow."

"Don't be ridiculous," you snap. "You'll probably get eaten by rats on the floor."

"I've had worse," he smiles, but his attempt at humour falls eerily short. "Get in," he tells you. "I'll be right there."

You crawl under the covers and pull them up around your neck, grateful for the warmth now emanating from the fire. Jack disappears momentarily into the washroom and reemerges with his damp shirt slung over his arm. "Sorry. It was getting uncomfortable."

You smile and look away. "I think I can handle it." Furtively you look back at him as he arranges his shirt to dry on a chair. His scars glow in the firelight, some still red, some old and grey. But it doesn't frighten you or disgust you or faze you in any way, because you know that's probably what you look like on the inside.

You feel the side of the bed dip as he climbs in. Silence, stillness. Two things you have learned to fear. The dark, also, but the fireplace takes care of that. Maybe it's because when its quiet enough you can hear your own thoughts, the wheels turning dangerously in your brain, conjuring up terrifying images of the future. Instead you operate on instinct, like a wild animal struggling to survive. Of course you want to hurt those who hurt you, but mostly, like an animal, you are afraid. Suddenly, the warmth of the fire is too hot, the covers up at your neck feel constricting. You hear your own breath catch in your chest as you simultaneously try to get enough oxygen and still appear calm. You fight the urge to run out the door into the fresh air, one hand clutching at the covers. But there's no fooling Jack. "Hey, hey," he reaches out for you. "It's alright, breathe."

You will yourself to calm down, and take slow, measured breaths. "Do you want a few minutes alone?" he asks cautiously.

"No, no," you gasp. The only thing worse than him witnessing your breakdowns would be him _not _being with you. "Stay."

"Ok, alright, I'm not going anywhere," he kisses your forehead, your eyes, and you feel your muscles relax. Your cheeks. All you have to do is turn your head so your lips touch his. He hesitates, but only for a split second before the hand resting on your side wraps around your back and pulls you closer.

You're grateful, because you don't have to think. You only feel his warmth, the softness of his lips, the animal (human) desire for closeness. Some rational part of your brain tells you that this is supposed to be some kind of milestone, something to talk about and establish new rules and boundaries and expectations. But even as you pull apart there are none of those things. Your entire life is one large tangle of complicated threads. But right now, Jack is simple. Jack makes sense.

"Thank you," you say, and this time he kisses you, softly once.

In his arms, you sleep deeply and do not dream.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry about the delay on this one. I've actually written part of the next (and final) chapter already as well, but I had to go back between chapters for a while and make stuff jive as I changed my mind on the plot line. Also, you can find me and this at 24nmore(dot)com. There is quite a bit of really good 24 fic there as well as content and discussions. Please check it out, we're still new and we need new contributing members! /plug**

**Part 5**

You aren't sure what time it is when you stir but the light is so strong you see bright orange behind your eyelids. As a habit you don't sleep late but it seems the time difference has gotten the best of you. You shiver, aware of the absence of the warm fire and the warm woman you fell asleep with. You smile into your pillow as you remember the evening, wanting nothing more than to reach over touch her soft hair, but you can tell she isn't in the bed.

In the back of your mind, guilt is blossoming. Not regret - you have far worse things to regret than kissing a beautiful woman. But guilt, because you know that by letting it happen you've set both of you up for more pain. You've been in enough serious relationships to know that nothing lasts forever. It's simply an unfortunate side effect of the path you've chosen. Still, the other part of you argues, both of you have lived too much darkness to pass up the chance for something good and pure, even if it's only temporary. Who are you to push her away? To see light in her eyes again is more than you could have hope for. The last thing you want is for it to go out - and for that to be your fault.

You jolt fully awake when you hear the sound of a gun being cocked. "Renee-"

She whips around, a shotgun in hand. "Sorry! I should have known better than to do that."

You swipe at your eyes, trying to rub away the drowsiness. "Where did you get that?"

Renee shrugs. "Grocery store. I also got some food." You slide out of bed and stretch your arms behind you. On the table there are a couple more handguns, a shotgun, a compact sniper rifle, a grenade, a knife, a pair of cuffs, and a pair of binoculars. "Your pick," she says, gesturing to the three handguns on the table.

You raise your eyebrow at the mini-arsenal laid out on the table, but pick up the HK USP 9mm. It's an older model but the weight still feels familiar in your hand. "That's what I thought," she says. "How do you like your eggs?"

"You got these at a grocery store?" you ask incredulously, putting the safety back on and setting the gun down.

"I know the guy. It's hard making a living as a grocer in Russia, so he has a business on the side. He was pretty happy to see me," her eyes travel down your naked torso.

"I'm pretty happy to see you too," you murmur, a hand trailing down her arm. Her hair is in a messy ponytail with odd tendrils trailing down her neck. You're unable to resist the impulse to kiss the bare skin there. You hear her soft sigh and the click of the gun as she sets it back down on the table. She turns to face you and presses her lips to yours, and this time she's forward and insistent and aggressive instead of gently hesitant like the previous night. Still, good as this is, you can feel the poisonous tinge of desperation, that urgent feeling of time running out, for this, for her. Her fingers trail lightly down your neck, and heat rushes through your entire body, intense and consuming, like life and sweet death all at once. You indulge her (yourself) when her tongue slides out to meet yours but when her hands slide down your chest, getting dangerously close to the waistband of your pants, force yourself away. "Scrambled," you gasp. You struggle to extricate your fantasy of pushing all the guns off the table and having her right then and there from reality.

"What?" she asks, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. You try and focus.

"I like my eggs scrambled," you manage. "I'm going to shower."

You practically flee. The last thing you see before you close the bathroom door is her standing with a hand on her hip and her coquettish half-smile and you're unable to remove the image from your mind. You suck in a deep breath and turn on the shower, for once thankful that the water runs cold. You try not to imagine her as you take care of your raging hard-on, but you fail spectacularly as you remember the feeling of her body pressed flush against yours.

When you re-emerged fifteen minutes later, clean and under control, there is a steaming plate of scrambled eggs waiting on the table for you. "Thank you," you smile at her and sit down, suddenly ravenous.

"You're welcome," she says, not looking at you. The earlier, playful mood seems to have evaporated, like volatile gas, impossible to contain.

She smirks, but then it fades from her face. Her thoughts are clearly somewhere else. "I want to go tonight," she says flatly.

"Are you sure we're ready?" you ask, concerned. You could probably spend another few days going over details, scoping out the property.

"I'll show you the place after breakfast. Through the woods," she beckons to the wooded area behind the house, "there's a ridge overlooking the valley where Vlad's house is. I can't wait any longer, Jack," she says, urgently. "Every day feels like an eternity. I need it to be done."

You hate it when she makes ambiguous statements like that. What is 'it'? Is it the mission, or is it her life? You wish you could just convince her to stay put (or tie her up) while you go kill Vlad yourself. You might even find it almost as satisfying as she would. But you know you can't cheat her out of the revenge she deserves, even if it's because you want to protect her.

You wash your dish as she puts on a light jacket and stows her gun in her pants. You do the same and put the sniper rifle in your duffle bag along with a notepad, pen, and the binoculars.

"Ready?" you ask. She doesn't look ready, but she nods silently. You hold out a hand, and she takes it without hesitation.

The rain has stopped but the sky is still overcast and the ground is wet and your feet squelch and slide in the mud. There's no grass, only the odd bush as you approach the tree line. Renee almost falls more than once, but you keep her steady. Finally the ground evens out when you hit the wood, a layer of brown leaves coating the ground.

You walk silently for about a half mile before the trees thin and you can see the skyline beyond. "We need to stay low, just in case. Those bushes there?" she points to some brush about twenty yards away. It's good cover, should anyone be looking. You nod. "Should be a good vantage point." You both crouch and creep slowly forward before getting right on your bellies in the mud. The drop beneath you is precipitous and slick, with jagged rocks jutting out from the mud. Far too steep and long to try and climb down.

You unzip the duffel bag and take out the binoculars, which you pass to Renee, and the sniper, which you set up to test the scope. There is a single dirt road leading into the valley and two acreages set wide apart, front of the houses facing you. "On the left," Renee says, "with the farmhouse." A tall fence surrounds the house. Through the scope you can see a man in the gatehouse and a couple of others near the barn, working. "All armed," she informs you, passing over the binoculars. Her eyes are wide, glassy, distant.

You sketch the area on your notepad, noting the best sniper angles. You discuss logistics for a few minutes before you notice the front door open and several men file out, all headed towards a truck parked in the driveway. "Where are they going?" you ask.

Renee shrugs. "Business. Vlad isn't with them," she still seems sad and far away.

"Hey," you say gently, "you alright?" You reach out a hand but she seems to shrink away from you, still gazing out at Vladimir's house.

"That was my home for almost two years," she says.

"Do you want a minute?" you ask, sensing her need for momentary solitude.

She nods. "You can start heading back."

"You sure?" you look at her doubtfully, reluctant to leave her alone.

"I'll be fine," she glances at you and tries to smile reassuringly, but it isn't quite that. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes. I promise," she adds, seriously, and you believe her.

"Ok," you dismantle the sniper rifle and load it into the duffle bag before rising into a crouch and brushing the leaves off your front.

You walk back at a leisurely pace to give Renee a chance to catch up with you. You can feel anticipation thrumming in your extremities, the beginnings of the stream of adrenaline that gets you through difficult operations. This time, though, even though the stakes are smaller, they are far more personal. You think of Kim and of your grand-baby and you wonder if you're doing the right thing - you feel guilty for constantly putting your ass on the line and worrying them, but you feel equally strongly the conviction that what you're doing now is the right thing, something that needs to be done because there are only a handful of people in the world who you truly care about, and Renee is one. You reach into your pocket and feel out your phone, quickly doing a mental calculation on the time difference. It's late in LA but Kim might still be up. You pause, now at the edge of the trees, and dial her number, suddenly wanting to hear her voice. She must be worried - you haven't checked in in days, and she must have heard by now about Renee's escape from the hospital.

There is a long pause and then you hear the ringing. "Bauer," you hear, her voice crackling slightly across the bad line.

"Kim, it's me," you say.

She makes an impatient clicking noise. "Where have you been? CTU is looking for you and Renee!"

"I know. I'm in Russia helping Renee take care of some business. I'll be back in a few days. Don't tell anyone I called, ok?"

"Dad, are you sure this is a good idea? You're both going to be in trouble when you get back. I heard Renee assaulted a nurse!" You sigh and make a mental note to ask her about that later.

"I know, and I'll take care of it then, but this is something I have to do, baby. Trust me."

"You really care about her, don't you?"

You pause, smile, ever surprised at how perceptive Kim is when it comes to you. "Yeah sweetheart, I do. Tell Teri I love her, ok?"

Kim's voice cracks and this time it isn't the line. "I will. Be careful, dad. I love you."

"I love you more than anything, Kim. I'll see you in a few days," you say, and you really hope it's true.

You snap your phone closed and take one step forward before you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world goes black.

------

You're underwater. Your eyes are seemingly stuck shut. You flail, terrified, but the water makes movement slow and difficult and your arms simply don't seem to be working. You hold your breath for as long as you possibly can before you can no longer fight the impulse to breath and open your mouth. Curiously, as you inhale desperately only a few drops of water trickle in, making you cough.

"Mr. Meier," you hear someone say, and suddenly the world flickers in and out of focus. "Or, should I say, Mr. Bauer." Your shirt is wet, and you realize someone just threw a glass of water in your face. You're tied to a chair, hands bound behind you and your legs each tied to a chair leg. Your head throbs painfully. In front of you is Vladimir Laitanan.

You squint your eyes as you try and remember what happened. They must have ambushed you just by the woods after you finished talking to Kim. A hot burst of panic rushes through you as you remember Renee and look wildly around the room for her, but she isn't there. "Where is she?" you bark, voice hoarse from hours of misuse. The curtains are drawn but you can you can still see the light outside. You can't have been out long.

"It's not quite what you think, Mr. Bauer," Laitanan smiles cockily, one hand resting lightly on your gun which is now in his possession. "It was Renee who hit you. I should thank her for saving me the trouble."

You strain against your bonds, confused. "I don't believe you."

He shrugs, unconcerned. "You can ask her yourself when she gets here. I'm sure you won't have to wait long."

"You son of a bitch, if you even touch her I swear I'll kill you myself," you spit furiously.

Laitanan doesn't seem too fazed by this. "Look, Jack. Can I call you Jack? I am sorry you are here to witness this, but you should have known better than to come along. Rest assured your death will be quick and painless."

"The only person who's going to die today is you, and I can't promise your death will be either of those things." You scan the room slowly, looking for anything you might be able to use to escape your bonds. There is an armed man standing at the door.

Laitanan laughs unpleasantly. "You aren't exactly in a position to be making such threats, are you? Surely, Jack, a man like you must understand a man's need to defend his honour. Renee betrayed me, and I simply cannot let that go."

"She betrayed you after you raped and abused her," you snap.

A glass shatters as it hits the floor. You've obviously touched a nerve. "She made the mistake of arousing my temper, just as you do now," he shouts. "She was a cop, just like you!" He reaches for a roll of duct tape and rips off a piece. You try and butt him away as he comes close, but he catches you by the neck and slaps the tape over your mouth. You breathe heavily through your nose, livid.

Laitanan uncorks a bottle of brandy and pours himself a snifter. "Too bad you had to run your mouth, Jack, or I might have poured you a drink," he says, taking a sip. The drink seems to calm him. "Why don't we discuss our mutual friend? I was quite taken when I first met her, as I'm sure you were. Clever, smart, strong. A good fuck," he adds, lips curling. You try and slow your breathing, but there's no way to quell the disgust and loathing. "As I'm sure you know," he peers at you. "Oh, no? You'll just have to take my word for it."

You flinch against your bonds as the door seems to explode and suddenly the guard there drops to the ground, dead, expression only the beginnings of surprise. There's a large, splintered hole in the door, but you only have a moment to look before it swings open with a bang. Laitanan acts just as quickly, gun cocked and pressed up against your temple.

Renee walks in, shotgun in the air. Her face is hard, expressionless.

Until she sees you. Surprise, then fear, filter through her eyes.

"Renee, so glad you could join us," Laitanan says nastily. "Now drop the weapon or your friend dies."

---

AN: Please feed the authors. Review. Thanks a million to Jackpot, who beta'ed this, and who never fails to keep my writing in line.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but it isn't. At least one more after this, and I have a couple of related projects on the go, but I'm not sure which will make it to air. Keep an eye out :) A million thanks to Jackpot for the 'coffee', edit, and life lessons ;) Also, please check us out at 24nmore(dot)com. Thanks!

**Part 6 **

I know the borderlines we drew between us

keep the weapons down, keep the wounded safe

i know our antebellum innocence

was never meant to see the light of our armicstice day

-Vienna Teng, Antebellum

---

The house is exactly as you remember it, right down to the peeling black trim and the silver pickup in the driveway. In your mind's eye you can still see yourself in the doorway, years ago, Vlad shouting at you before you dared to slap him in the face. He hit you back, of course, hard enough to leave a mark.

A wave of emotion washes over you so strongly it's hard to identify any one. Mostly you just want to be sick and then curl up into a fetal position. You've imagined killing him a thousand times, and in your fantasy you always feel better for doing it. You've imagined your own death as many times. You wonder which one will become reality.

Your greatest fear is that neither outcome will bring you the relief you so long for. You've never believed in a hell, but as go over the list of despicable things you've done and might do in the future, (the Vosslers, Alan Tanner, Alan Wilson, the nurse, Vlad) you can't help but think you'll have to pay for your deeds eventually.

You drag your eyes away and gather your things from around you. Slowly, you crawl away back into the trees before you stand up, not caring to try and wipe the mud off your front.

As you near the tree line you hear a voice from beyond you. Cautiously, you slow down and conceal yourself behind a tree, one hand on your gun. A few seconds of eavesdropping reveals the voice to be Jack's.

You know you shouldn't be listening, or at least not without alerting him to your presence. But you do anyway.

His voice is low, tender. The way he speaks to you when you're alone together. "...in Russia helping Renee take care of some business. I'll be back in a few days. Don't tell anyone I called, ok?"

You exhale. So he's talking to Kim. Kim, someone he has who will truly and unconditionally love him and be loved by him as long as he lives.

You swallow, tears coming to the surface. A new emotion bubbles to the forefront. Guilt. How could you be so selfish as to drag Jack into this? Despite everything he's been through he still has a family to go home to, friends, people who love him. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if he got killed helping you. You, on the other hand, don't have anything to lose.

Except for him.

You creep up behind him, slowly. He's engrossed in his conversation, or else he would have noticed you. A frightening new course of action forms in your mind, and you staunchly attempt to ignore the moral implication of what you're about to do. What's left of your conscience is screaming that this is what you _need _to do.

You hesitate, but then he says, "I love you more than anything, Kim. I'll see you in a few days," and any doubt you have is erased.

He snaps the phone shut. You spring, hitting him expertly in the back of the head with your gun, just hard enough to knock him out. He barely gasps before he hits the ground, unconscious.

Heart pounding, you turn him over and frantically check to be sure he's still breathing. He is.

For a moment, you give in to blind fear. What have you done? All you can think about is how now you are truly and completely alone. Your breath comes in uncontrollable gasps and you can no longer fight the urge and are sick in the mud beside him.

When the wave of nausea passes, you cough once, the hard, hacking kind that makes your chest hurt. You clench your fists and try and gather your wits. It's time.

You look down the road in case anyone is coming but you don't hear or see any vehicles. First you sling his duffel bag over your shoulder and then grab his wrists and clumsily drag his prone form the thirty feet or so to the house. He's already much heavier than you, but with his dead weight and the rifle in the bag it's even worse. Getting him up the three porch steps requires some extra effort, and by the time you've managed to get him inside you're already perspiring profusely, muscles shaking and refusing to do any more. You'd planned to heave him up on the bed but instead you leave him on the ground and secure him to the heavy wrought iron bed frame as securely as you can manage with an old roll of duct tape. You know it won't hold him forever but hopefully it'll buy you some time to get it all over with.

Hands still shaking, you take his gun and look at it for a moment. You already have several. Plus, he'll need something to protect himself. You set it back down beside him.

Time to go. Strange then, how at this moment all you want is for him to be awake and to take you into his arms and take you away. You know he would if you asked. All you have to do is sit and wait till he wakes and apologize for hitting him. It's sorely tempting.

Instead, you sling the duffel bag over your shoulder and try and wipe the mud off his face, fingers trailing over his relaxed, peaceful features.

_Maybe in another life._

On your way out, the door swings back and forth like some bizarre saloon scene in an old western. You bound back into the forest, never seeing or hearing the silver pickup that waits down the road for your departure.

-----

You're staring straight down the sight of the sniper rifle. Your finger is tense but the trigger is still slack. A man is in the yard off to the side smoking a cigarette. The silver pickup is gone, or maybe in the back.

He's an easy target. Totally unprotected, totally unexpecting. One. Two. Three. All you hear is the silenced whine of the rifle and the gentle thud as the man hits the ground. You leave the sniper where it is and run, shotgun in hand. The slope is too steep and too slick to run down, and it's only about a mile if you follow the road. At a good jog it should only take you a few minutes.

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, feel the waves of adrenaline crash through you, unrelenting, propelling you forward. If you ever felt like you were treading on the brink of insanity, now you've plunged beneath the surface. As you turn past the corner store you visited in the morning, Vlad's property comes into view again. Now you duck into the trees and follow the road from a safe, invisible distance. In a few minutes your directly across from the house, gazing at it and taking in more detail than you can remember than even in your most vivid nightmares. Suddenly, the door opens and another man comes out, weapon in plain sight. As quietly as you can, you cock your gun. The man scans the yard, stopping when he sees your prior handiwork. He rushes down beside the other you just shot, checking his pulse with one hand and brandishing his weapon with the other.

"Hands up," you say, taking a step out from the tree line, gun clenched in both hands. The man hesitates, looking from you to the dead body in front of him.

"Slowly, drop your gun, or you're going to end up just like him," you say, voice low and deadly. This seems to convince him. He puts it down. You keep the gun raised in your right hand and reach into your pockets with the other one, pulling out the pair of cuffs you picked up earlier. "Now, walk over to the fence and cuff yourself."

He picks them up and gets up, slowly. "Whore!" he spits.

You roll your eyes. "Do it!"

He gets partway to the fence when you see the flicker of panic in his eyes. You know what he's going to do before he does, foolishly lunging at you. He's got two bullets in his chest before he hits the ground.

You sigh in frustration. He had his chance his to save his life, and he wasted it. You pick up the cuffs and then kneel down, rummaging through his pockets. You find a set of keys and his cellphone and pocket both.

As stealthily as you can you go round the back of the house, thankful for Vlad's minimal security. You have a feeling his men have standing orders not to kill you, anyway. There's a service entrance in the back that leads into one of the kitchens. The door is locked, so you pull out the ring of keys and try them all until you get the right one.

It seems deserted. Hopefully everyone's gone to bed already. You creep along, barely breathing. You remember slipping out of Vlad's bed late at night, when you felt like the dark was going to consume you, and coming down for a glass of water. Or vodka.

You approach a corner, gun ever at the ready. Swiftly, you whip around it. What you aren't expecting is to collide with another person, who takes a clumsy spill to the floor. "Don't move!" you whisper angrily.

"Ms. Renee?" you hear a female voice, accent thick. You blink, eyes adjusting to the dark of the kitchen. A heavy set Russian woman is at your feet.

"Tatiana?" you ask, surprised. She was Vlad's housekeeper back when you were here, and still is, apparently. She is a good woman, someone you can trust. You lower your gun.

"Ms. Renee, what are you doing here?" she asks fearfully. "Mr. Laitanan has been talking about you for weeks, he is going to kill you!"

You shush her, afraid someone will hear her. "I know," you say. "I'm trying to prevent him from doing that," you choose your words carefully.

"You are going to kill him?" she asks, her expression impressively stoic. You know that this woman has probably scrubbed blood out of the carpet for Vlad more than a few times. She probably knows more about his goings on than most, but she is too afraid to say anything.

"I'm going to try," you say, unable to commit to anything more. "Where is he?"

"In his study. He has Evgeni at the door, and another man inside I do not know!" she whispers urgently. "What should I do?"

"Just be ready to leave," you tell her, thinking of the thermite grenade expertly hidden in your jacket. "Just in case. Can you do that?"

She nods. "Good luck," she tells you, squeezing your hand.

"Thank you," you say, touched by the gesture. She hurries off, and you raise your shotgun again.

So, the office, then. The scene of the crime. You're sure he knows you're on your way by now, and his current location is supposed to be some kind of psych-out. And truth be told, it is. You wonder if the brocade covered chaise-longue he forced you down onto is still there. You imagine it is; it doesn't seem like a single dust particle has changed its location in the last six years. It's still old and rich like you remember it, complete with guilt trim and checkered floors reminiscent of some old monarchic palace. As you creep around the corner the staircase comes into view. It's open and spirals up several floors, a glimmering crystal chandelier hanging centred above.

You get halfway up the stairs before a man holding a semi-automatic appears from the left, clearly patrolling the hallway. He doesn't look at all surprised to see you.

"Put down your weapon!" he commands, in Russian.

"Ok, ok," you respond soothingly, also in Russian. He's clearly quite young, obviously nervous. Something you can exploit. You slowly bend at your knees and put the shotgun on the step above you. "I know you have orders not to shoot me. I just want you to take me to Vladimir, ok?"

He nods, and starts to descend the steps towards you, rifle at the ready. "Hands up," he orders. You comply. "Now, go in front," he tells you, obviously not wanting to ascend the stairs backwards. Slowly, fluidly, you step slowly over your shotgun and onto the next step, and in a split second you whirl around and break the man's right arm. Simultaneously you hear his cry of pain and the series of shots from the rifle, which miss their target completely and instead are directed upwards. One hits the chandelier and an explosion of glass rains down on you. It's all the distraction you need to pull your Beretta from the back of your jeans and landing one fatal shot to his chest, point blank. The force causes him to tumble backwards over the railing, hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.

Chest heaving, you shake the glass out of your hair and clothes and reach down to pick up your shotgun. You quickly sprint the rest of the way up the stairs and hang a right. You can already see the olive green double doors at the end of the hallway.

You slow down and try and walk lightly, quietly. It's impossible Vlad didn't hear the commotion in the hallway. You wonder why he hasn't come to shoot you yet.

You pause outside the door, feeling strangely collected, the eerie calm before the storm. You don't relish having to go inside, but you know that no matter what happens, it's the end of the road in some way or other.

You're focused so hard on the door that you notice when one side moves only fractionally. There must be someone standing in front of it. Unwise. You cock the shotgun and blow a hole in the door, marginally satisfied by the explosion of splinters, before kicking the other side of the door open as hard as you can. Your aim was true. A man lies dead at your feet, blood pooling around him. Just another body to add to your count, you suppose.

The room is exactly as you remember it, dim, full of warm, glossy wood and dusty books and crystal bottles with amber liquid. And Vlad of course, glass in hand. You still are unused to his new facial features, now sharp and angular where they used to be more broad, more inviting.

Only one new addition. Jack, with a gun pressed to his temple. Now you understand why Vlad wanted you to come to him.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, bound and gagged and staring at you, eyes wide. All your earlier calm dissolves as panic floods you. How on earth did he get here? How did he wake up so fast?

"Renee," Vlad says, "so glad you could join us. Now drop the weapon or your friend dies."

"Vlad, he has nothing to do with this! This is between you and me!" you plead, voice thick.

"Put down your gun, Renee, and then maybe we can talk." He speaks in English, so that Jack understands. He would be speaking Russian otherwise. When you worked for him, Vlad insisted you speak Russian. You know Jack understands the language, but evidently, Vlad is not aware of this.

You grit your teeth, stupid, unwanted tears springing to your eyes. Unwillingly, you put the shotgun on the ground.

Vlad sighs. "The pistol?" You acquiesce. "Your pant leg, and your jacket pocket." he asks. "Honestly, Renee. Don't make me check you myself," he smiles, eyes hard. You pull the knife out of your boot and the grenade out of your pocket. If only Jack weren't here, you could pull the pin before you dropped it.

"How did you know we were here?" you demand.

He rolls his eyes. "You think I didn't know about your little chalet? You should have known better than to bring him along. What is that English expression? Killing two birds with one stone, I think."

"Vladimir, umolyayu," you plead, using a word for please that literally means to beg. "Let him go," you carry on in Russian, "and you can do whatever you want with me."

"You know, Renee, it's not very polite to speak a language your guest does not understand in his presence," Vlad says, in English. "Then again, it's also not very polite to knock out and tie up your friends," he smirks. "Is it, Mr. Bauer?" Jack grunts as Vlad rips the tape off his mouth.

"Renee," Jack says simply, but you understand it to mean hello and why and I thought we were in this together and goodbye. Anguish crushes you, not for yourself, but for him, because you tried to protect him but you failed, and that his impending death is your fault.

"I'm sorry Jack," you say, stubbornly trying to blink away the moisture pooling under your eyes.

"It's alright," he manages a small smile. Somehow this is comforting, despite the circumstances.

"Renee, come here," Vlad says, and you shiver, memories of only months earlier. He suddenly looks tired, as if he'd rather pack up and go to bed. Your legs comply without thought. He removes the gun from Jack's temple and flicks the safety back on, holstering it securely. "I am disappointed, Renee. After all the business we did together, you betrayed me. It was all a lie," he says, bitterly.

You stare into the grey eyes of the man you once cared for, searching for any shred of the humanity you once knew in them. You wince as he brings a hand to your face, and instead of striking you, caresses your cheekbone. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into his hand, some final, bizarre ghost whisper of your past relationship, and you hate yourself for doing it. Almost as much as you hate him. "Please, just make it quick," you utter.

You find what you were looking for in his eyes, a moment of humanity, of weakness. "On your knees," he commands.

"Vladimir, please promise me you won't hurt him," you beg, sinking to your knees.

"Renee, get up!" Jack barks, as if the fact of you remaining standing will somehow prevent your death, or perhaps just the indignity of it. You look at Jack and are genuinely shaken by what you see. He's straining impossibly hard against his bonds, breath coming in desperate gasps, pure, feral terror in his eyes. Your heart breaks all over again.

You feel cold metal press into the back of your head. "Close your eyes," you tell Jack.

"No!" he gasps, eyes locked on you.

Vladimir cocks the pistol. You are not afraid. You stare into Jack's blue eyes, a final kind of comfort.

"Vladimir," you say softly, then, in Russian. "it was not all a lie."

Behind you, you sense his split second of hesitation.

A flurry of movement. A shower of blood, hot, cleansing. Blackness.

---

Reviews, please?


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

Your death has been a long time in coming.

You've long since accepted the fact of your mortality. It's hard not to when you've stared death in the face as many times as you have. For the last few years, every breath you've taken, every morning you wake, every time you hear your granddaughter's voice on the phone has been a gift. You're aware of how miraculous your continued existance is. But now, tied securely to a chair at the hands of a madman intent on having his revenge it would seem your luck has finally run out.

The only injustice is that she will die too, on her knees, light extinguished.

You remember your early years in Delta and then with CTU, when you still thought that life was supposed to be fair and that bad things shouldn't happen to good people. A lesson you had to learn the hard way. Now, as Laitanan cocks his gun and Renee stares right into, resigned, you let that old feeling overtake you once more. It's almost a childish outrage, the kind that makes you want to pound your fists on the floor and scream.

"Close your eyes," she utters.

You would do almost anything she asked of you, but not this. You hold her gaze, as if you could keep her alive just by focusing on her as hard as you can. So you simply open your mouth to say no, but your voice malfunctions and it comes out as more of a strangled gasp.

"Vladimir," she says, then something in Russian too softly for you to understand.

Whatever she said, it makes him hesitate, body swaying slightly, gun pulled away from her head a fraction of an inch.

This is a mistake.

For you, the scene unfolds as if in slow motion. Only there's no button to stop or rewind.

Simultaneously you hear a deafening gun shot and see Renee drop to the ground. For one terrifying moment it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. For some reason, Laitanan is tumbling headfirst over her body, gun flying out of his hand before leaving a dent in the drywall, right next the hole left by the deflected bullet. It takes you a moment to realize that her arms are stretched out behind her and clasped tightly around the back of his left knee, which now bends at an unnatural angle. His cry of agony fills the room.

Before he has a change to recover, Renee pushes him onto his back and pins him with all her weight, one forearm pressed mercilessly into his throat. Her left hand gropes the carpet beside her, and you can tell that it closes around something, (the gun?) but you can't quite see from this angle. Her face is only inches from his.

"Renee, please," Vladimir gasps, squirming uselessly beneath her. Her eyes are black, furious, soulless. You watch, transfixed, disturbed by the change in her. In one smooth motion she removes the arm constricting his windpipe and slits his throat.

A pattern of blood spreads there before a sickening spurt of arterial blood covers her face and hands. She doesn't even flinch. You see her weapon, a shard of the earlier broken brandy glass as she throws it to the side. Fitting.

Vladimir gasps for air as he dies, mouth moving in the shape of words he can't vocalize, life quickly pouring out of him. A final gurgle and he is still and pale.

An unnaturally long, silent moment passes. You want to speak but seem unable to form words, the horror of the scene simply overwhelming.

Finally, Renee seems to snap out of her stupour. Shaking, she turns her hands over and looks at her palms, and then up at you. You see her face properly for the first time, bright red blood dripping from her chin, eyes dark and feral. Bloodlust. You will never forget this image as long as you live.

Then, she collapses.

"Renee!" bursts out of you, and time seems to regain its normal cadence. Enraged, you shake in the chair as hard as you can, but all you succeed in doing is causing it to tip over sideways and land unceremoniously on the side of your face. You call her name over and over again and struggle helplessly against your bonds for what seems like a long time but must really only be a few minutes.

Finally, her eyes flutter open, and then close again. She's still for a second before she rolls onto her side, back to you, and heaves, clutching her stomach. She seems to have nothing to expel but still her body convulses again and again until she is gasping for breath.

"Renee," you murmur again, as if trying to comfort her with the sound of your voice. Eventually her gasps quiet and her body relaxes. You fear she's passed out again, but she shakily pushes herself upright, tripping over her feet and into the wall where she leaves bloody handprints. She pauses to steady herself. She won't look at you.

She bends down and picks up the knife she gave up earlier, turning it over in her hands, like she's considering what she should do with it. "Renee, don't," you plead. You don't even want to imagine coming this far and having you both survive only to see her give up. "Just untie me and we can get out of here."

The sound of your voice finally seems to register, and she looks at you, then down at the knife in her hands. She drops to her knees at your feet and hastily cuts away the bungee cord tied too tightly around your extremities. Your hands and feet tingle painfully as the blood rushes back into them. Immediately you try and pull her towards you but she shoves your hands away and looks at you as if to say "don't."

"Ok," you say. "Ok. Let's just go. Please."

Mutely, she nods. You pick up her beretta and stow it in your jacket, just in case. She picks up the grenade and stumbles out of the room, forcing you to chase after her. Her knees are shaking so badly she almost trips down the staircase. You reach out a hand but she still won't let you touch her.

You make it out the door and the cool air is a relief from the tang of blood and death in the house.

At the doorstep she pauses and takes a long look at the house, eyes glazed over with what you're sure are memories. You don't notice the hand that drifted into her jacket pocket. Before you can stop her Renee pulls the pin and throws the grenade back into the front door. Your eyes widen and your hand shoots out and catches her wrist, legs already moving fast as they'll go, yanking her along with you.

A second later the explosion rips through the house and you feel the concussive shockwave from twenty feet away, sending both of you face first into the mud, a wave of uncomfortable heat rippling over your heads as the oxygen is sucked from the air around. You're sure you shouted an oath, but it's lost to your ringing ears. For a moment all you can do is suck in air and try to stop the uncontrollable pounding of your heart.

"Come on," you say finally, reaching for her, but she rolls out of your reach and on her back, balancing her weight on her elbows, eyes glued to the scene. All the windows have blown out the front of the house and a gaping, flaming hole is where the front door once was. You track the flames with your eyes as they engulf curtains in the windows and spread, the exceptionally hot flame produced by the thermite reaction easily consuming the structure. It's not until the roof goes up in flames and you hear the first beam creak and fall that Renee tears her eyes away, suddenly looking tired.

"Jack," she says finally. "Take me home."

A wave of emotion overtakes you. Gratitude. Protectiveness. Affection.

You simply nod, and this time she doesn't resist as you reach for her and bundle her into your arms, lifting her weight easily. One hand cradles her head against your heart. "It's going to be ok," you say, thinking your words must sound empty to her.

When you get back to the cabin you prop her up on the toilet seat and run the shower, waiting for the freezing water to become an acceptable temperature. You don't bother taking any of either of your clothes off but pull her directly into the warm spray, where she clings to you, shivering and sputtering as the water washes away any evidence of the events of the last hour. Your hand drifts down her neck and you feel her pulse under your thumb, heartbeat steady and vital and comforting.

She turns her face into the stream and tilts her chin upwards, eyes closed. Blood and dirt swirl down the drain in watery rivulets.

Like rebirth.

**---**

AN: It's over! *cries a little bit* I really hope you guys enjoyed it. It was a lot of fun for me to write after a couple of years of not really writing. I have some other projects in the works so keep an eye out. And thank you a million to the wonderful Jackpot for the beta *hearts* If you enjoyed it, please let me know.


End file.
